


Stickshifts and Safetybelts

by Abagail_Snow



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2205489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abagail_Snow/pseuds/Abagail_Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta is probably the only person in Panem who prays for traffic during rush hour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stickshifts and Safetybelts

"You're crazy, you know."

Peeta cranked up the dial on the air conditioner and angled the vent to capture the cool breeze. His foot sat heavy on the break, only lifting slightly for the car to lurch forward a mere 3 yards. Ahead of him was an endless stream of brake lights as far as the eye could see.

When he'd taken the transfer from the exurbs of Panem -- to downtown Capitol, his coworkers had all laughed.

"The commute will kill you," they said. "A 15 minute commute at 11 is a two hour commute at 5."

Sure, Peeta knew that the roads around Capitol were a notorious, bottle necking nightmare, but he was a patient soul, and the promotion to the headquarters office was too good to pass up. Besides, it wasn't like he really had any place he needed to be. The company of the radio was as good as the company of the television he'd get at home.

He let out a yawn and pushed back against the steering wheel, locking his elbows to stretch his idle limbs. The summer sun was angled low in the sky, casting a beam of sweltering heat right through his windshield that his air conditioner couldn't keep up with. He fussed with the vents one last time, before rolling down the windows, hoping to catch the faintest hints of a breeze in the stagnant air.

The crunch of his tires against the asphalt drowned out the radio only briefly before he came to another stop. He'd been sitting in traffic for 20 minutes now, and he could still see his office building in the rear view mirror. He chuckled to himself as he flipped to another radio station. At this rate, he'd probably succumb to carbon monoxide poisoning before he made it home. That, or old age. Probably old age.

He rolled beneath an overpass, momentarily cutting his satellite radio. Music from the car beside him took its place. A familiar ballad with one too many voices. He looked over curiously, smiling when he spotted the source of the accompanying act.

Her Honda Civic had seen better days, some time in the 1980's most likely, and the cough of the engine nearly drowned out her voice, but something about the way she sang made every other sound fade out of existence.

Peeta found himself mesmerized by her soothing tones, completely oblivious to the cars around him. A horn blared behind him, and he realized he'd let about five car lengths get ahead of him. The girl was jolted as well, her eyes flashing to meet his, wide and round with horror at being caught.

Peeta smiled at her apologetically before rolling forward, his eyes periodically darting towards the passenger window, hoping that their lanes would align again.

* * *

"YOU HAVE A REALLY GOOD VOICE," he called out his window.

Her windows were rolled down just like his, and judging by the sheen of sweat that seemed to make her face glow, her air conditioner was as useless as his was. She sat rigidly in her seat, but he could tell by the tight line of her mouth that she'd heard him.

It was the third time this week that he'd spotted her car woven somewhere within the traffic, but the first time they'd been pulled up beside one another.

"YOU COME AROUND HERE OFTEN?" he said.

She turned to look at him, squinting with confusion, but the curl of her mouth showed mild amusement. "WHAT?"

"I COME HERE TO MEET PEOPLE," he said. "I DON'T EVEN WORK DOWN HERE. IT'S A PAIN TO GET NUMBERS WHEN YOU CAN'T TOUCH YOUR PHONE THOUGH."

She laughed and shook her head. "I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU AT ALL," she called back.

"THAT'S PROBABLY FOR THE BEST."

The speed of her lane began to pick up and she started to roll forward. "I'VE GOT TO GO," she said, waving as she pulled away.

* * *

There was a light tap on the horn from the car behind him and Peeta glanced up at the rear view mirror to see what they wanted.

It was the girl in the Civic. His carpool buddy, he'd come to affectionately call her whenever his eyes scanned traffic in search of her presence.

She held up a hand in a shy wave before looking away, focusing all of her attention on her dashboard like the calibration of her speedometer was the most fascinating thing. Peeta stuck his hand out the window to wave back, exaggerating the motion until he got her attention again.

He wanted to figure out a way to talk to her. Sign language was out of the question; he could barely spell his own name let alone carry on a one handed conversation out a window. He balled his hand into a fist and bounced it three times before extending two fingers into a scissor formation. Their eyes were locked in the rear view mirror and she raised a perplexed eyebrow.

He repeated the motion, this time ending with his hand flexed. Paper.

She smiled in recognition, and reached her arm out the window, letting it dangle close to the side of her car as she balled her fist to play along.

She played rock. He played scissors. Her entire face lit up with a victorious grin.

* * *

"WHAT EXIT ARE YOU?" he shouted when he'd managed to maneuver a few lanes to get beside her. Traffic was moving more quickly than usual, making it harder to maintain their usual rapport.

"WHAT?" she said, leaning over the center console slightly to hear him better.

"WHAT EXIT?" he shouted again, but her lane slowed abruptly while his continued to roll forward and she was gone.

* * *

He pushed off the floor of the car to angle himself further out the car window. "ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?" he called into her passenger window when he came to a stop beside her.

"I THINK YOU'RE FOLLOWING ME," she said back.

"I'm Peeta."

She looked at him skeptically, hesitating for a moment before she said, "Katniss."

* * *

Peeta gauged the space to get to the next lane over, leaning his entire chest against the steering wheel to get a better angle through his side view mirror. Her car was six up and two lanes over. He'd been trying to catch up with her for the last ten minutes to no avail. Not with all these jackasses on the road in his way.

He slipped into the open slot and offered a friendly wave to the car behind him who was now honking and flailing obscenities at being cutoff. At least in their interpretation.

Finally, the path to her was cleared, and he rolled alongside her as if taking a leisure stroll. He reached into the grocery bag that was perched on his passenger seat and groped for the foil bag of chips, which he tossed through her open window.

"What is this?" she said, reaching blindly for the proffered treat while she watched the road ahead of her.

"I wanted to buy you dinner."

She picked up the bag to inspect it. "Bagel chips?" she said, scrunching her nose in disgust. "You'll have to try harder than that."

"You want a better, more compact road snack?" he said. "A sloppy Joe, perhaps?"

"If you're buying? Steak. Medium rare."

He laughed. "You want the fork and knife too? How does that work?"

"I've seen it before," she said.

"Someone eating a steak while sitting in traffic?"

"I think it was spaghetti, actually. He even had a little napkin tucked in his shirt," she said, and now she was laughing too. This was the highlight of his day now. Monday through Friday. Finding Katniss's Civic and seeing her smile.

The next day he tossed her a bag of beef jerky between lanes. "The chef overcooked it. I can send it back."

She flashed the smile he'd been waiting for. "I'll allow it," she said.

* * *

"WHAT EXIT ARE YOU?" he shouted. They'd been running into one another along different parts of the highway for nearly a month now, and while their slow burning acquaintanceship had been fun and exciting, he was interested in meeting this woman on more than just a few-words-exchanged basis.

She glanced at him and then back at the road. Her lips worried together in that same way he'd come to know they did when she considered whether or not to humor his flirtation. "TWELVE," she said.

He grinned. "ME TOO."

He knew that when traffic first broke, he was ahead of her, but as he pulled off at his exit, he couldn't be sure if he had beaten her there. He rolled to a stop at the edge of the gas station parking lot right off the highway, killed the engine and waited.

Sure enough he spotted the Civic sitting at the traffic light off the exit. The light turned green and she began to pull forward and then, right before the entrance to the gas station, her orange turn signal began to flash. It wasn't just a coincidence either, because she pulled her car beside his then leaned over the console to call out the window. "Is this really how you meet people?"

He leaned out his window. "It is. That's probably why I'm terrible at it."

She shook her head with a mild laugh. "I'd say you're pretty innovative."

"I've been thinking. We seem to be on the same work schedule with fairly similar start and end points. Maybe we could carpool sometime. You know, for the environment."

She looked away shyly.

"Or..." he amended quickly. "We could carpool to a movie or a steak dinner." He smiled uneasily at her hesitation. "I'll let you sing along to the radio."

Her cheeks darkened and she covered her face with her hands. "You heard that, didn't you?"

He folded his arms against the window sill so that he faced her completely. "Honestly? That's how I knew I liked you."

"You smiled at me," she said abruptly.

"What?"

"That's how I knew I liked you too," she explained. "The way you smiled at me after."

"Not like a serial killer," he said.

"Well when you need confirmation..." she said, but she was still laughing.

"This probably isn't the best time to invite you into my car then."

"Probably not."

"How about a phone number?" he said.

She reached to unbuckle her seat belt, and he was surprised when she moved to open her car door. He followed suit, meeting her halfway.

"This is weird," he said, and he couldn't help the way his eyes dipped to get a better look at her. In fact, he was pretty sure he caught her doing the same.

"It is," she said.

"I assumed you were maybe part-green-Civic."

She rolled her eyes. "I hope that wasn't something you were looking forward to."

He held his hand out to her formally. "Hello," he said.

And when she took it, she said, "Hi."

* * *

"This station is terrible," she said as she reached out to tune to another.

He swatted her hand away before she could reach he button. "How could you say that? They just played Smash Mouth!"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop from laughing. "I believe that only supports my original statement," she said.

"Here, this is better," she said when the smooth horns of a Cake song began to play.

"You only like them because they're named after dessert."

"I need you to be here with me, not way over in that bucket seat," she began to sing.

He reached over the console to tug her closet by the waistband of her jeans. "I need my baby next to me!" He shouted offkey.

She smiled, letting her hand tangle with his over the gear shift as they cruised down the road.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (absnow)


End file.
